Sculpting Characters

As I retype/rewrite the first book in my Heart’s series during the morning hours, the characters for the last book are beginning to form. After a morning of rewriting, I work on character sketches and plot for that fourth book. Something about doing that is giving depth and clarity to the first book.

I’ve been delving into my tear sheets and workshop notes, compiling them into one document of concentrated notes and information about character development, mostly as reminders. Truth is I know most of it by heart and only need a nudge or two to implement it. I have five different character worksheets from the workshops and conferences. Each similar, each with one or two smart items the others didn’t have. I consolidated the whole of them into my own worksheet and deep-sixed the lot of them.

I had to take a deep breath, exhale and close my eyes to do it, but I never really used them anyway. I held on to them though, as if that would be the secret to wonderful character development. But really, what works for me is what’s best, right? I did the same with the character interview. I sorted and shifted through the stack of them I had, wrote my own with some of the questions on the worksheets and some of my own, then tossed the old ones.

It has been liberating and frightening. I’m so worried I’ll forget something and yet, I did this once before on setting a scene. I read and studied everything I had gathered in all the workshops, classes and conference pertaining to setting struggling to write perfect settings for the scenes of my book, only to realize I was perfecting the heart and soul and me out of the scene, so I tossed everything and made my own checklist. Sure, some of the suggestions were there, some of my own ideas were, too, and that made all the difference in the way I felt about my story.

It’s time. Time to trust what I’ve learned and now, I must let it spin out from me. All right, I’m a little insecure—a lot insecure. After all, I have not published in novel form. Maybe, trust is the secret.

On that note: Several years ago, I read an essay printed in the paper. It changed the way I sculpt character more than anything else I’ve ever heard, better than the best writer’s workshop or lecture, better than every book I’ve ever read on character development. The title: Take Time Today to Reflect upon Best Memories by Bob Swift. It was a Christmas essay, just a list of Swift’s best memories. It tugged at my heart, took me back, made me smile and cry. It was perfect. It was amazing at just what it was, but it got me thinking. I knew this man. I had some of the same memories.

 With that one essay, I knew Swift’s history, age, attitude, loves, childhood, and heartbreak. I knew he liked Louis Armstrong’s horn, dogs, mountain mornings, walking in the rain, New York delis, and the color red.

Had he written a sister essay of his dislikes, I would have known him even better. That beautiful, simple essay, written as if I was sitting across from him, (though Swift even added rhyme and rhythm, bless him) in his words was the perfect character sketch. It was so simple in form and intention.

It’s my gold standard, my blueprint for character sketch. Two essays written from a character’s voice about best and worse memories. It works better, for me, than the interview, although the interview as a guide can help you remember all you need to include, if you tend to forgetfulness.

I read an article many years ago, can’t remember from which magazine, but the article talked about getting addicted to books on writing. Reading them rather than writing. Trying everything in every one. It is tempting. I’ve even tried; think it would spell success for me. I always go back to the way I think and work, no matter my determination to be ‘better’. I likely always will. So, along with cleaning out of my files, I’m taking hard looks at many of my writing books. I must admit, I love reading them. The writing and the passion in some of them gets my juices flowing, gives me that kick in the pants everyone needs, but they don’t get the words down, do they?

All I am doing is pointing. You must find it true yourself. —The Buddha